


Rigged from the Start

by hholme1995



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Mr House is such a dad, Not Canon Compliant, the courier has terrible taste in men obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:46:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27234445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hholme1995/pseuds/hholme1995
Summary: The Courier can't remember anything about her life before, and is following the only lead she has to who she is and what she is doing in the Mojave. Despite her best efforts, she will lose her heart to the most evil man in the Mojave. The truth is, this romance was rigged from the start.
Relationships: Female Courier/Vulpes Inculta
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	1. What Now?

**Author's Note:**

> Does the courier like bloatfly steak? Doubtful.

Did she like bloatfly steak? The courier poked experimentally at the semi-gelatinous meat, wrinkling her nose at the bizarre smell. She gently forked a chunk and deposited it on her tongue. Chewing, she felt the cartilaginous tissue resist her in places, areas of softness in others, popping in her mouth like a sack of goo. She grimaced. No, she did not like bloatfly steak. She swallowed hard, and forked another piece, trying to keep her mind off the taste. 

It was hard, not remembering anything, not remembering what food tasted like or how it smelled. Not remembering her past or where she had come from. Not even remembering her own name. Just suddenly waking up, alive and grown and in the world. In some ways, it felt like she was literally born yesterday. And yet, some things seemed ingrained, as if the knowledge was stored somewhere outside of her mind. Shooting bottles with Sunny had been so effortless, the courier had known how to steady her aim and hold her breath and expertly pick off bottles. She had known how to skin gecko hides without being coached, and she knew how to make a fire and how to maneuver a knife in her hand. Her body knew how to do all these things, even as her mind could not recall how or where she had learned them.

She knew she was a courier, although only because Doc Mitchell had told her. And she knew someone had shot her in the head. Twice. Seemed a bit excessive. Or, given that she had survived, perhaps not excessive enough. She let her fingers trace the bumpy scar running from the corner of her eye to the temporal lobe of her skull. It was still red and angry, still hurt all the time, still made her wince when she probed it with her fingers. Seeing herself in the mirror had been...challenging. She may not have remembered what she had looked like before, but she still hoped she would have been beautiful, with this scar, she never would be. The courier was almost beautiful, her eyes were particularly lovely, sparkling green with flecks of gold, large, with long dark eyelashes. But her mouth wasn’t quite right, her lips not quite in proportion. She had a sharp, thin chin. A forceful, unforgiving jaw. She looked...stern, severe. Perhaps that was good, in a wasteland. Perhaps she should be thankful for a face that wouldn’t inspire love poetry or sweet words. But apparently she had some feminine vanity, and it was still an unhappy surprise to see what she looked like. 

She had one lead, only one, on who had shot her: a checkered suit. But from what she’d seen of this world so far, a checkered suit seemed rare enough to be distinctive. She’d gotten caught up in the troubles of Goodsprings before she left, but those people, they had been so kind to her, it only seemed right to back them up when the Powder Gangers came calling. She groaned. Only a few days in the Mojave and she already had enemies, enemies whose favored weapon was dynamite of all things. Just great. Primm had been a complete dead end, just more people demanding enormous amounts of help for miniscule amounts of information, so she had continued on, setting her sights on Nipton. Hoping against hope that the next town down the road could offer her some tangible information without asking her to clear out a damn prison full of dynamite wielding lunatics. 

The courier pulled a mortar and pestle from her pack, adding a fire gecko spleen and a handful of xander root, mashing it together into a sticky white paste. She applied the resulting mixture to her scar, wincing as she did so. How she learned this recipe, she didn’t know, but it had been a lifesaver. The paste at first burned, icy hot on her skin, but after a few minutes, the area would become delightfully numb. Her pain now subsided, her unpleasant dinner consumed, the courier wrapped herself in the dirty blanket she had found in the abandoned schoolhouse, and inches closer to the fire. She would need a good night's sleep if she was to make it to Nipton tomorrow.


	2. In flagrante delicto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vulpes Inculta and the Courier bone. This is out of order. This will actually come (ha ha) a lot later in the story, but this scene ended up being really fast to write so I figured I’d just put it up even if it is in the wrong order (I’ll fix it later) because I’m trying to update every other day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “In flagrante delicto” essentially means being caught in the act of doing something unsavory.

Vulpes had fucked a lot of women. The wives of NCR Brahmin barons, whores, slaves, whole scores of women had known his body, whether they wanted to or not. It was, if he were being honest, one of the easiest and most enjoyable parts of being a frumentarii. The pillow talk of wives was more useful than one would imagine, and whores had access to some of the most important people in New Vegas. 

He found that women had certain ways of behaving in the bedroom, they came in types, flavors, if you will. The higher the status, the older the woman, the more she liked to scream and wiggle and generally “put on a show”. Slaves were dull; mostly quiet, clearly counting the seconds until it was all over. Whores talked too much and made annoying lewd noises that he was certain they thought were titillating as hell. He enjoyed sex and he had enjoyed every woman he’d fucked. Sex was a violent act and he enjoyed violence. He’d fucked women young and old, willing and unwilling, beautiful and plain. But there is one kind of woman he’d never fucked: a woman who wanted him for himself. Who wouldn’t have taken another man in his place. Who wasn’t using him for something (for money, to embarrass their husbands) or being used by him. Rachel...Rachel was something different. 

“Vulpes please....stop” she was softly moaning under him as he fondled her breasts and kissed his way up from her collarbone to her jaw. He licked and nibbled at her earlobe, her hips involuntarily shifted to grind against him in response, putting her own body at odds with her words. 

“Now why would I,” he planted a wet kiss on the softest part of her neck, “ever do that?” She tried to stop herself from responding to him, tried to stop the quiet breathy moans that came unbidden from her lips. That she wanted to control herself, and couldn't, had his manhood straining painfully in his jeans. 

“I’m not strong enough to stop you right now, please Vulpes, be merciful” Her leg traitorously wrapped around his waist and one hand tangled in his hair. 

“That’s why this is happening. You’re too weak to stand in your own way,” the ragged dress that covered her body easily came apart in his hands. Vulpes threw it to the side and pressed his body into her, grinding his aching cock against her thigh “or mine. And I’m never merciful.” 

She forced her hands away from him, gripping the table instead and trying to crane her head back. “Someone will come in here, they’ll catch you” she pleaded in desperation. 

“I doubt it,” he gently kissed the still healing gashes running across her chest, and saw her blushing a bright crimson, “I told them if they so much as knock on this door I’d cut out their tongues”

Her hands grasped at his shirt, pulling it over his head and throwing it to the corner of the room. He shuddered as her hands gripped his bare skin for the first time. “You’re a monster,” she whispered breathily as she pulled him up to meet her lips, “I’ll never forgive you.” She rolled her hips against him again, desperate for any friction. 

“I know,” he stuck his tongue in her mouth savoring the taste of her as his hands hastily moved to undo his belt buckle, “and I don’t care.” He reluctantly moved away from her to remove his pants, and took a moment to look at her naked body. He’d never seen her unclothed before. She was pale, the kind of sickly pale that showed how weak she still was after her near brush with death. Her hair was still wet from being washed by Marian, the cafe woman turned nurse, this morning, and was splayed out across the table. Her full breasts were marred by three long lines of red puckered skin, stitched together in black thread. Her normally shapely arms and legs were blossoming with patches of yellow and green, bruises part way through the healing process. Her face looked thin and sunken, her sparkling green eyes rimmed in dark circles. He had never wanted a woman more in his entire life. 

She looked away from him, and moved to cover her body with her arms. 

“No,” he brushed her arms aside and let his hands trail across her body, “I want to see you”. Her face was turning red. “You’re divine” 

“Stop it,” her voice caught, “don’t...don’t say that” 

He climbed back on top of her, groaning as his naked form came into contact with her. He pressed his lips savagely against hers, grasping her arms tightly, not caring if it hurt her. “I’ll say whatever I want, and I say,” he rolled his hips against her and she sighed, “you are divine.” He let his hand wander to the soft curly hair above her clit and ran his fingers through it. He suddenly shuddered as her fingers found their way around his cock. She began to stroke him, softly at first, then with more force. His head sunk into the crook of her neck and he moaned loudly. 

“Rachel I...” he didn’t get to finish his thought, as she slid his cock against the wetness between her legs. His whole body was on fire, he felt himself involuntarily press into her, desperate to feel her slick heat against him. He could feel her mouth twitch into a satisfied smile. He chuckled against her. He thought he’d had all the control of this encounter, but with one move she’d put him at her mercy. That simply wouldn’t do. 

His fingers palpated down to her clit. He moved his fingers in a circular fashion, occasionally probing inside her. She was already dripping for him. She inhaled sharply and pressed her sex into his hand, her breath growing more desperate with each stroke of his fingers. 

He couldn’t wait. There would be other times, he was certain of that now, other times where he could taste her and play with her and take as long as he wanted exploring every inch of her. But today, right now, he just couldn’t bear another moment not inside her. He quickly rubbed his cock with some of the wetness from her cunt and lined himself up to her entrance. 

“Yes... yes” she murmured, pulling his head deeper into the crook of her neck. He pressed into her and he could hardly breathe. She’s so tight, he has to push hard to get inside her. Her hand claws at his back and she can’t hold back a breathy moan. He thrusts slowly, savoring every inch inside her as her hips rise up to meet him. They come to a slow steady rhythm and it’s like they are moving as one being. She doesn’t care about stifling herself anymore and neither does he. He presses his lips to hers and she groans in his mouth. 

“Rachel,” he pants drawing his head up to look at her, “look at me Rachel”. Her eyes lock to him and he shudders. She tries to close her eyes, to look away, and he pulls her face back to him. “I want to look in your eyes when you cum for me”. She whimpers helplessly and bites her lip as he looks at her. With each thrust he can feel her tightening inside, can see the pleasure building on her face and in her eyes. She’s trying desperately to hold herself together and she can’t. With each moment her hips meet with his he can feel himself about to topple over a cliff. 

“Oh God Vulpes I...I can’t” she’s moaning, barely composed enough to speak, and he knows she’s close. 

“Tell me”

“Anything” 

“Tell me you love me” 

She whimpers again, in pleasure and pain. 

“Not that” 

“Say it” 

“Please don’t make me say it, Vulpes please” she’s begging now, her voice is raw and pained, but he has to hear it. 

He slows down and she whines, thrusting unevenly against him. 

“Say. It.” She cries helplessly and he picks up speed again. 

“I...” 

“Yes deliciae, yes” he encourages her, staring into her eyes as his fingers brush away the tears flowing from her eyes. 

“I...” he can feel her walls tightening around him, slamming against his cock, she stares at him, her whispery voice broken with need and misery, “I love you”. He smashes his lips against hers, thrusting with desperation now as he feels himself losing control. A few pumps is all it takes until he’s spilling into her, his body goes nearly limp collapsing on her. His brow covered in glistening beads of sweat. He lays there, unwilling and unable to move; his face resting in the crook of her neck. 

After a while, she lets her fingers glide across his back, feather-light, tracing patterns he can’t follow. His dick limply slides out of her and he wraps an arm behind her back, pulling her closer to him. He doesn’t know how long this goes on, but he eventually moves, lifting himself off her. He then scoops her up into his arms and she winces. Her chest hurts. He kisses her forehead and walks with her in his arms to a chair by the fireplace burning in the room. He carefully sits, maneuvering her into his lap, her head falling against his chest. 

“Why?” she doesn’t need to specify. 

“I don’t know” he answers honestly. He didn’t know why he had to hear her say it, why he made her say it. They sit there in silence for a long time. He listens to the crackling of the fire, he holds her close and enjoys the weight of her on him. 

“You aren’t going to say it back.” It’s not a question. She doesn’t sound sad. She says it like she’d say anything, like she’d comment on the weather. 

“No,” he rests his head on hers, “I would never say that to you.” 

“I know,” she adjusts her head slightly and looks up at him blankly, “I don’t know why I even asked.” 

“Because you’re a fool” 

Her brows wrinkled together and her lips twisted into a scowl. “Why would you say that?” 

He brings her hands to his lips and kisses them. “Because my deliciae, lux vitae meae, only a fool would love me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> deliciae (Latin)- darling (English) 
> 
> Lux vitae meae (Latin)- light of my life (English)


End file.
